Angel On My Shoulder
by SoulMalady
Summary: Harry has found himself in a pickle... He's nearly dead. Then an angel walks into his hospital room, wanting to watch him die. Stranger things have happened to him, so who is he to judge? Chapter 5: Babysitting
1. I'm Dying!

**A/N:** You guys are _very_ pursuasive. So here's another crossover. Slash with Cas/Harry

* * *

The hospital room was quiet but for the rhythmic whirring that had been the background noise for the past week. Curtains were pulled apart to let in some sun. The door was closed to shut out noise from the corridor. A nurse had dropped by over an hour ago to check up on her patient, making some markings on the chart by the foot of the bed before leaving. Lazy Monday afternoon.

"I'm bored," Harry groaned into the window that he was squishing his face against.

There was no one to hear him.

He turned around and scowled at the bed.

What he saw would have freaked him right out a week ago. Now he was just plain frustrated and bored to tears. How many days was he supposed to hang around here, stuck in the same room with his own comatose body?

He shuffled to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. He saw himself under the covers, unresponsive with a tube stuck down his throat, bandages around his head, and bags of IV hung on metal stands. He leaned over his head. "Hey. Wake up," he tried for the tenth time that day. "Wake up or die." But he neither woke up nor died. He just lay there, cheeks sunken, lips chapped and skin ashen.

He couldn't be sure what had happened. He couldn't remember anything. One day he simply woke and found himself out of his body. He couldn't talk to anyone, no one else could see him, and he couldn't escape this godforsaken room, try as he might. He had watched his friends drop in every day, either to cry or to simply stare. He hated that most of all. He wanted to tell Ron and Hermione that it was going to be alright. He wanted to hug Teddy tight to make him smile again. He wanted to wake up for Molly and Arthur.

It hurt so much to see them that way.

He sat back and exhaled shakily. "Please die…"

He wouldn't mind disappearing. Yes, death is scary. But to live like this, to see the pain around him… One week was enough. A week of tears and somber words. A week of grave doctors and busy nurses. A week of being alone. He would never have imagined that it could hurt this much.

The door opened quietly, prompting him to glance over his shoulder.

He frowned at the unfamiliar visitor.

The man at the door wore a tan trench coat over his white shirt and dark tie, even though it was the middle of summer. He took a silent step forward before closing the door behind him. His dull eyes rested on the bed and he stood still for a moment, examining the bandaged figure under the covers.

Harry stared at him, waiting for a spark of recognition to strike him. It didn't. That irked him. Why had a random man been let into his room? He wasn't on display. He got up to his feet and folded his arms against his chest. "What are you looking at?" he grumbled.

The man didn't acknowledge him.

He wasn't surprised.

_No one_ acknowledged him. He harrumphed and stood guard over his body.

The man slowly approached the bed. He had slid his hands into his pockets and his steps were unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. Once he was closer, he took another minute to examine what injuries were visible under all the tubes and bandages. He apparently didn't like what he saw by the way he pursed his lips.

Harry felt very uncomfortable after realizing that the man hadn't blinked once the entire time he had been in the room. He stepped closer to his body and rested a hand on his own hand, trying to reassure himself that nothing weird was going to happen. "Go away," he tried. "You can't be here."

The man in the trench coat did not go away. He sat on the edge of the bed instead.

Harry immediately bristled. "It's not a free show," he snapped.

"I know."

He gasped, withdrawing his hand and jerking backwards into the wall.

The man glanced at him briefly. "You do not have much time."

It didn't matter. Time didn't matter. Not right now. This man could hear him. This man could see him. Harry swallowed hard. Then, without warning, he stuck his hand out, striking the man's shoulder. "Oh…" He usually just went through other people, unable to touch them. "You… Do you know who I am?"

"Yes."

He sank to the ground, barely balancing on his heels. "Thank goodness." He buried his head under his arms. He wasn't crazy after all. Maybe things would be alright now. Maybe…

He quickly lifted his eyes. "Wait. What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "Time?"

The man gestured behind him vaguely. "The Reaper is making his rounds."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Reaper?" He looked up at his unconscious body. "But I… That's not… I can't… Wh-why?"

The man tilted his head to the side. "A moment ago you wanted to die."

"You heard me?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was… that was before _you_ showed up, wasn't it?" Harry tried to defend his hasty resolution from earlier.

The man frowned slightly. "Did I change your mind?" he murmured.

"Of course!" For the first time in a week, Harry was feeling energized and not the least bit bored. "No one could see me or talk to me. I thought I was going insane! But _you_!" He jumped up to his feet. "You can see me! This changes everything…" He paused. "What's your name?"

"Castiel."

"How come you can see me?"

"I am an angel."

"Oh…"

"And I am merely a spectator."

Harry gaped at him. "You're going to watch me _die_?"

"This is your fight."

There was a sudden chill in the air, prompting Harry to whip his head towards the closed door. What he saw made him shrink back. A figure in tattered grey robes, scythe in one skeletal hand and faceless under the shadow of a billowing hood. The Reaper glided into the room, its silence almost deafening, sucking all other sounds out.

It stopped in front of Harry.

Lifting an arm slightly, it held out its hand.

Harry steeled himself and shook his head while clutching at his body. "No."

The Reaper remained motionless for a second that dragged on for a few moments too long. Then it retracted its hand. Without fanfare, it glided away.

Harry gaped after it, baffled. As soon as it disappeared into the corridor, he turned to the angel. "Is that it?" he blurted out.

Castiel shook his head. "Hardly." He studied the young man, his brows knitted together ever so slightly. "You are not scared of dying?"

Harry started to relax his tensed shoulders. "I'm… I mean, of course I'm _scared_," he faltered. "Just… why was that so easy? Can I just keep saying no to him?"

"The Reaper will become more and more insistent. Death is merciful at times, but has very little patience."

* * *

"I wish they'd talk in here," Harry complained while trying to peek out the doorway to lip-read a grave conversation between Molly and a Healer. Whenever there was bad news, the Healers always spoke to her outside the room. He huffed and turned to Castiel who was seated on a stool by the bed. "Do you know what they are saying?"

"They are discussing your condition."

"Yes, I get that. But _what_ about my condition?"

"Bad things."

Harry shook his head in defeat. Talking to this angel was ridiculous. "Say, do you watch a lot of people die?" It must be eerie to see souls just walk off with a Reaper. "Are you an angel of death?"

For the first time, he saw Castiel flustered, although the unexpressive man's notion of fluster merely meant slightly widened eyes and a small shift in posture. "No, I… I am not Death himself," he explained carefully. He averted his eyes at the thought of it, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "I am an angel of Heaven. Not Death."

"I see…" Harry didn't get it at all, but he nodded in any case. There were a lot of things he didn't understand. He should just chalk this up in that category as well. Besides, he had more important things to worry about. If the Healer was giving bad news to Molly, that must mean that he didn't have much time left to get better. He had spent the better part of the day trying to wake himself up. Having Castiel stare at him solemnly did not help much, but he couldn't very well tell an angel to shove off, could he?

A familiar chill overcame him. "Oh no," he exhaled before skittering backwards towards his body and sitting down on the bed. What would happen today?

The Reaper glided into the room, once again pushing down all sound until only heavy silence remained. This time it did not approach Harry directly. It seemed to want to survey the room. It floated towards Castiel, its tattered grey robe trailing on the floor delicately. Neither of them spoke. Instead, they examined each other with mutual respect. When the angel was beside the Reaper, it was clear that he was more similar to the creature than to humans.

After a minute, the Reaper turned to Harry, holding out its hand again.

Harry shook his head like before. "No."

But this time the Reaper was not taking no for an answer. It reached out and grasped the young man's arm in a bony grip.

A sharp trill sounded from the bed, scaring Harry into lurching away, towards the Reaper.

The door was thrown open and three nurses ran in, one of them carrying a tray of potions and needles. Harry understood as they ran right through him. He was dying.

"No!" He tried to jerk away from the Reaper by pulling his arm back. Behind him he could hear the nurses quickly talking to the Healer who had slipped into the room right after them. It was suddenly too loud. Too chaotic. He tried to hold on, digging his heels onto the floor and grasping fruitlessly at anything, just anything, with his free hand. But he kept getting dragged further away from himself and the chaos. The Reaper was already halfway out the door.

There he saw Molly, half-hidden behind the skeletal figure.

She wasn't crying.

She had her hands clasped at her chest, tears welled up in her soft brown eyes that had already seen enough pain. She looked older, pinched lines at her eyes and grays sprinkled through her frazzled hair. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips pale. But she wasn't crying. She was resigned. She lost hope.

He couldn't bear it.

"I SAID NO!" He yanked his arm hard.

His wrist slid out of the Reaper's hand.

"I've got a pulse," the Healer announced, prompting a collective sigh from the nurses.

Harry stared at Molly as panic overcame him. He can't die yet. He had to at least say goodbye. The Reaper glided away, leaving him to 'live' out another day. "Molly?" He had so much to say. "Please, don't-" He reached out to her. But he struck a barrier that stopped him from crossing the threshold. "Please." Frustration slammed into him, prompting him to beat his fist against the barrier. Hasn't she been through enough? Did she have to watch him die as well? She deserved better. She deserved happiness, not agony. Why now?

Harry stirred at the sound of his name. The loud rushing sound in his head ebbed away as awareness returned. He blinked at the tiles under him. He was barely supporting himself on his hands and knees. The room was empty. "Is he coming back?" he mumbled, already knowing the answer.

"Yes." Castiel was seated beside Harry, shoes planted on the tiles, knees bent and his arms resting on them casually. "You are very stubborn."

"It's what I do best," Harry muttered. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He was having a tough time with it. "When?"

"I do not know."

"But I can fight him off again, right?"

Castiel rubbed his stubble absently. "You keep saying this," he noted. "But why are you fighting? Do you enjoy fighting?"

Harry gingerly shifted so he was sitting cross-legged. "Of course I don't." He had fought enough for three lifetimes already. "I just… Well, I can't die yet, that's all."

"You change your mind so easily."

"I'm allowed to do that. This is my life."

"I see."

"I'll die when I'm ready."

"Today you are not ready?"

Harry shook his head. "Not yet."

"Will you be ready tomorrow?"

* * *

"I think I understand now."

Harry tore his gaze reluctantly away from Teddy and Andromeda to Castiel standing beside him. "What do you understand?"

"You are not afraid of dying. You are afraid for everyone you are leaving behind."

He thought for a moment before nodding. "I guess so."

"You love them very much."

"Yes."

"Do they know that you love them very much as well?"

Harry raked a hand through his hair, appearing troubled. "I hope so… I mean, I thought I had more time." He perched on the windowsill and turned his attention to his godson again. The young boy was being unusually quiet and sticking close to his grandmother. Since visiting hours had started, a steady stream of friends had been coming into his room to hold his hand, say a few words and shed a few tears. "It's today, isn't it? I won't get a third chance to say no."

Castiel didn't say as he watched the young boy wipe his wet cheeks angrily against his grandmother's long skirt. "Are you happy that I'm here?" he murmured.

"Mhm." Harry brushed at his eyes. He didn't like seeing Teddy this way. He pushed up onto his feet and turned away, looking out the window instead. "I'm really glad." He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump. "Even if you're a figment of my imagination."

"I am real."

"Sure."

"I am. Don't you believe me?"

Harry smirked drily. "I believe you."

Castiel nodded once. "Good. Because I _am_ real."

* * *

It was just past one in the morning when the Reaper appeared for a third time.

Harry sat on the bed like before, holding onto his body to reassure himself that everything was going to be… okay.

The Reaper glided forward and extended its hand.

"No."

With unparalleled speed, the bony hand shot forward, piercing Harry's chest.

He slumped as a harsh chill drowned out all other sensation in him. He had no strength, no warmth. He looked up pleadingly, only to stare into blank black abyss instead of human eyes. The sallow grey skull showed no emotion. The hand twisted inside his chest, gripping his heart. He gasped as he felt his life leaving him. This was the end. He jerked when Death pulled at his heart, forcing him onto his feet. He was dragged out of the room, through the Healers and nurses who were frantically trying to restart his unresponsive body in the bed.

The hospital faded away as he was lifted upwards off the ground. He couldn't struggle anymore. Instead he felt a terrible weight inside him, making him limp. He closed his eyes. So this is what dying is like. He concentrated on keeping calm. Everybody died. Now he would see his parents and Sirius and Remus and he shouldn't feel bad for himself for missing Ron and Hermione and Teddy and it was going to okay and he should just let go because this was how everybody's life ended at one point or another… He kept rising higher and higher.

Suddenly a loud clap of thunder broke his ascent, jolting him angrily. He threw his eyes open, just in time to see the Reaper look to the side, its hood shifting soundlessly.

Then he dropped.

Faster than ever, he dropped down.

He reached up, grappling at nothing but air. His stomach plummeted when he realized that he wasn't going to heaven after all. He was supposed to meet his parents. He was supposed to die and go to heaven. Cold wind blasted against the back of his neck as he fell and fell and fell. He tried fruitlessly to hold on to something… Anything…

And warmth enveloped him.

His fingers grabbed onto rough feathers. "Ah," he yelped in surprise before letting go. But he didn't fall. He wasn't heavy. He was light as air instead. He was floating.

He gaped at Castiel. "What's happening?" He looked above him and saw white. He looked below him and saw black. "Am I going to hell?"

His chin was nudged up, prompting him to lift his head again.

"You are one of a kind, Mr. Potter…"

Mr. Potter…

_Mr. Potter…_

_Mr. Potter._

"Mr. Potter."

Harry woke up in a heavy daze, finding himself surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter," a Healer mumbled.

He smiled tiredly. Not hell after all. Just not heaven yet.

Castiel glanced upwards at the disgruntled Reaper who was hovering without a soul in its clutches. "My apologies for interfering."

'_You said you only wished to watch, Castiel.'_

He simply slunk away with his hands in his pockets instead of answering the Reaper. At least he had the sense to appear sheepish.


	2. I'm Alive!

"I have done something that I might come to regret."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, brows raised.

Castiel sat hunched over in a chair, elbows on his knees and fingers laced together in front of him. He hadn't looked up at them once since appearing in the motel room in the middle of their late night research session. He certainly looked perturbed. He had creases on his forehead and his voice had dropped even lower than usual. He kept getting lost in his thoughts, which made him trail off with his sentences.

"Look," Dean said with an abrupt sigh. "Either tell us or go sulk someplace else."

The angel finally lifted his head, only to glare at the brothers. "Let me think," he growled.

Sam threw his hands up in defeat and decided to return to his laptop. Dean just scoffed at Castiel's audacity to interrupt their work and then order them to butt out of his business. "Entitled brat," he muttered under his breath.

Castiel knew he was in trouble the moment he had intervened with the Reaper. He hadn't realized the full extent of that trouble until… well… _now_. Yes, he had brought Dean and Sam back to life a handful of times, but they were different. They were instrumental in the inner workings of shifting dynamics between angels and demons. The Winchester brothers were exceptions.

Harry Potter had to be an exception too.

"I interfered with Death's work."

Sam froze while Dean didn't look the least bit surprised. "So?"

Castiel let out a slow breath before shaking his head. "It was not my place to interfere. And yet…" He trailed off again.

"You've helped us out a bunch of times," Sam reminded him carefully.

"For the greater good."

"Okay then…" Dean tapped his shoe to fill some of the silence in the room. Could Castiel really be in a bind right now? Was this a big deal?

Castiel stood up, sliding his hands into his pockets. He was expecting a visit from Death any time now. "His soul was reaped. But I pulled him back to life." He cleared his dry throat. "He was supposed to die."

* * *

When Harry woke up again after his harrowing experience with the most awful nightmares he had ever had, he found his best friends, Ron and Hermione, on either side of him. He stared at their blurry faces for some time to figure out the situation, and then his eyes lit up. "I'm alive," he croaked.

"Yeah, mate." Ron squeezed his hand tight. "You scared us for a bit though. Don't do that again, alright?"

"What happened?"

They explained the circumstances in light detail. He had been caught in a wand fight between his Auror team and fleeing Death Eaters. He had suffered multiple broken bones, which were easy enough to fix, and a head injury, which hadn't been so easy to fix. But things were looking up now.

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"Not as bad as you." Hermione patted his arm. "Don't think about that. Think about getting better."

"Okay." He would gladly think about getting better. "I thought I was going to die. So this feels great."

"I don't doubt it," Ron scoffed. "You're on more pain potions than an elephant can handle."

"Oh… That must be it. Yeah." He scratched his itchy head over the bandages.

"Your hair keeps growing back even after the nurse cuts it short. Fifth time already."

He laughed in disbelief. "Really? That hasn't happened in forever."

He had a flood of visitors that day and he was glad for that. He wanted to get an eyeful of everyone while actually being able to touch them. Molly hugged him as tight as she dared, not saying a thing the whole time. He was glad to see her ecstatic smile and feel her fussing fingers on his bandages. Teddy had clambered right up in bed despite Andromeda's tsks, and he had refused to leave even after a whole hour. Harry didn't mind at all. He squeezed his godson in his arms over and over again. Arthur and Hermione were kind enough to bring over some books for him to read during his stay. He would need to go to rehabilitation therapy sessions to help with his motor skills that had been damaged by the head injury. Molly spoon-fed him her own homemade soup and he was still hooked up to an IV bag. He couldn't hold utensils or his wand, and he was definitely not ready to get out of bed yet. He was never one for all this attention, but if it made his friends and family happy, he would gladly sit still and let them fawn over him. It was the least he could do after worrying them half to death.

Castiel watched all this, hidden from mortal sight but still plainly in the room. He had brought so much joy to these people. Was that wrong?

He turned away and bowed his head.

Death stood before him, his weathered face set in a grim expression. His dark suit hung on his almost skeletal frame, giving him a sharp appearance that complimented his sharp nose and chin. He scraped his black cane across the floor of the hospital room absently, prompting the subdued angel to look up. Once their eyes met, Death tilted his head. "Have you had sufficient time to find an excuse?" he asked. His words were mocking and his tone bored, but his sunken gaze pierced Castiel, almost eager.

"I have no excuse…"

"Hmm." He was slightly disappointed. "You do not want to defend him now?" He laughed drily. "You were fierce with my Reaper. Where has that fierceness gone?"

Castiel glanced at the bed where Harry was laughing at Teddy's excited stories about all that he had missed over the past week. Ron and Hermione were trying to beat Teddy's tales with some of their own. Molly and Andromeda were sitting on the couch, speaking quietly amongst themselves. All that silence from before had fled now to make room for chattering and bickering.

"If you had not interfered," Death murmured, "he would have died."

"Yes," Castiel understood.

"Why did you wish to watch him die, Castiel?"

The angel had wondered this for many days now. He did not know what had compelled him to walk into this hospital room that Monday afternoon. But he knew what had compelled him to keep coming. There was something about Harry Potter. "Morbid curiosity?" he guessed weakly.

"Did you know that this man is the Master of Death?"

Astonished, Castiel turned to Death again. "You cannot believe that," he mumbled, his eyes quickly studying the ancient face for an answer. "It is just a legend."

Death smiled wanly. "You are right. It's just a story. The three Deathly Hallows are hardly enough to defeat me."

"… Then I don't understand."

"But wouldn't such a story pique your interest?"

Castiel straightened as he realized what Death was hinting at. "You were simply testing him… Was this a test?"

"Yes."

"Then you know that he is not the Master of Death."

Death rolled his eyes. "I did not manage to reap his soul," he reminded the angel begrudgingly.

"You could have," Castiel argued. "If I hadn't intervened, he would-"

"But you _did_ intervene."

His words caught in his throat.

"_You_ intervened," Death repeated himself. "Now I ask you… If I were to test this man again, would you intervene again?" He knew that, of all other angels, this one was different. This one was starting to care for mortals, ever since the Winchester brothers. This one was capable of great and terrible things. "What compelled you to stop me?"

Castiel blinked when Death vanished from his sight.

"Man, I missed you guys," Harry sighed as he hugged Teddy tight and beamed at his best friends. "I thought I wouldn't get to say goodbye."

"Shut up, Harry," Ron and Hermione retorted in unison.


	3. One Year Later

It was a little after two in the morning and only a few remained in the quiet, dimly lit pub. The bartender had stopped serving and was washing down dirty tumblers, not noticing the slightly sour atmosphere in his cramped shop. He also didn't pay attention to the only two customers left at the bar counter in front of him. One had been drinking for over three hours, ordering the same combination of whiskey and ice five times. His chipped nails, unkempt beard and dusty clothes would have deterred the bartender, but as soon as Sickles dropped on the sticky countertop, the alcohol kept flowing. The other man in black was nursing his first drink of the night, having slipped into the pub just before closing time.

The only sounds in the pub for the past hour had been gentle snores from a few drunkards passed out over the table, quiet chatter from three men gathered at a table by the door, clinking of glasses that the bartender was wiping, and brushes of leather on wood from the unkempt man's restless leg.

He finally finished his fifth drink, knocking the last inch back without so much as a grimace. He threw a few Knuts on the bar before struggling to get up despite his poor balance.

The man in black smirked into his tumbler as he watched the antics out of the corner of his eye. "Should've laid off after the first three," he mumbled.

"Aye, mind your own fuckin' business," the drunk man slurred while swaying to meet the offhand comment.

His fierce scowl rapidly shifted the moment he recognized the man in black.

He stumbled back, landing heavily onto the stool once again. His bloodshot eyes widened in panic and he gripped the side of bar with pale fingers.

The bartender noticed. "Hey now." He flicked his eyes between the two men. "I don't want no trouble."

"No trouble at all," the man in black said with a patient smile. He turned in his stool to face the terrified drunkard. "Are we going to cause trouble, Pritchard?"

"N-no."

In unison, the three men at the table rose and moved silently to stand by the exits in the pub.

Now the silence was tangible and cold.

Pritchard swallowed hard. He had been so careful to cover his trails. Yet they had found him. There really was nowhere to hide. He should have listened. He should have realized that it was useless to run as soon as the first of his allies started to disappear one by one. He blinked his bleary eyes to see more clearly. Was he the last one? Had everyone else been caught already?

"Would you like to discuss a deal?"

A deal… He would rather die than make a deal. But he kept that thought to himself, nodding slowly instead. His hand inched behind him.

"I want to know who you've been conspiring with. I want to know names, locations. I want correspondences. I want to know everything you know."

Pritchard nearly scoffed. Did he think it was _that_ easy? "What do I get in return?"

"You are in no position to bargain with me."

He knew that. Darting his eyes across the pub, he saw no easy way out. He was cornered like a rat. Months of running led up to this undignified end. He was not about to go down without a fight. He had risked too much, left his life behind for the cause. He would be damned if he didn't leave his mark.

With remarkable speed he whisked his wand out of his coat, a red hex flying from the tip before he had even straightened his arm.

The man in black was just as fast.

Pritchard's wand went sailing across the room, his hex slicing through bottles. The bartender dove under the counter for cover. Shards of glass and white flames sparked through the shelves, collapsing them. The men on guard at the exits moved as one, teeming towards the alcohol fire.

But that was all just a distraction. Pritchard had known that he wouldn't get a single curse out.

The knife he kept hidden at his back was clasped tight in his hand and he lunged forward with an angry roar, bringing the blade down hard.

The man in black jerked to the side and ducked under the swinging knife before knocking Pritchard into the counter, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. "Drop it," he snapped. He bent Pritchard's fingers hard enough to make him yelp and let go of the weapon. It fell to the floor with a resolute thud. The commotion was over in under five seconds. Pritchard gritted his teeth and didn't resist when his other wrist was also grabbed and then cuffed together. He had blown it. Assault on an officer had just lost him a deal.

The bartender peered over the counter fearfully, getting an eyeful of the dirty customer bent over, cheek smashed into the rough wood. He jerked his gaze up at the Auror behind the criminal. "You said there'd be no trouble…"

"Yeah," Harry murmured as he jerked Pritchard upright and shoved him towards the exit. "Sorry about that." He nodded at his colleagues to indicate a job well done before escorting the bound man out the door.

An hour later, he was inspecting his bandaged arm where the knife had left a bite. He just couldn't catch a break these days. He shook his head in defeat. At least the bust had been successful. Somewhat. He shrugged his jacket on gingerly. "I think I should call it a night," he announced to whoever was left in the sleepy office. He got a few gruff mumbles from grumpy Aurors, which was what he had expected. These late nights were going to be the death of them.

It had been over a year since his near-death experience. He had had a long road of healing ahead of him, but he was finally healed and deemed fit for service just two months ago. And what a busy couple of months it had been. He had been breaking up makeshift underground followers of black magic nearly every day. At least the boss thought his team was efficient. He wasn't so sure. He massaged his aching arm as he got up onto his tired feet. Enough work for a day. He grabbed his satchel and robe before making his way out of the office and into the dark corridor.

The rustle and snap of a cloth prompted him to spin around.

He was pushed into the wall with a simple touch to the chest.

He gaped at Castiel. "You…"

"Isn't this enough?" the angel murmured. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Enough…?"

"How can I persuade you?"

Harry returned to his senses in an instant. His arms shot forward and he closed his fists on whatever he could grab hold of. With a hard jerk, he swung Castiel around to shove him against the wall, switching positions. "Don't," he growled before the angel could say another word. This couldn't be happening. This must be a spell. He dug his wand into Castiel's chest. He could hardly see because his vision was swimming before him. Fragmented memories of his fight with the Reaper tore through his racing thoughts.

He staggered back as panic gripped him. What did this mean?

Is he going to die again?

Castiel tried to stop him. "Harry-"

"No!" He kept his wand raised even though his arm was shaking. "No, you… You aren't real," he stammered. "Just…" He turned on his heel and ran.


	4. Reason?

Harry sat forward, inhaling deeply and settling into a yawn before he could help himself. "Sorry, guys," he mumbled while rubbing his heavy eyes. "I should've called."

"No, no. It's fine," Hermione assured him as she set a cup of tea on the coffee table. Ron stayed standing, still half-asleep considering it was six in the morning on a Saturday. They had woken up to the doorbell no more than two minutes ago. "Drink up."

Harry took the cup in his hands gratefully and sipped on the honeyed beverage. "I couldn't stay in the house," he confessed.

"The paintings again?" Ron frowned.

"No… Something else."

"Go on," Hermione urged him. "What happened?"

Harry stared at the hypnotic movement of the golden tea, trying not to panic as he remembered. "It sounds… _ridiculous_ if I say it out loud."

"Try me."

He didn't know where to start. "When I was in the hospital, I had these… weird dreams," he said. "Like an out-of-body experience, you know? I somehow knew that I was in trouble and… I don't know. I can't remember a lot of it." He shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense though. It's just a dream. I thought it was just a dream."

"Haven't got all day," Ron interjected, earning a scathing glare from his wife.

"An angel saved me."

Silence followed that reveal.

Harry hazarded a glance up to find his best friends staring at him expressionless. "Ridiculous, huh?" he said weakly.

"An angel?" Hermione echoed. "Saved you from what?"

"… Death."

"Oh."

"Wait a second." Ron held up a finger. "You're being serious?"

"I think so…" Harry gripped the cup tighter. "Wings and all. I couldn't fight after some time. I wasn't strong enough. I nearly gave up too. But I didn't end up dying after all. I just woke up."

Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder. "Take a breath."

He clicked his tongue. He felt like his breaths were numbered at this point. "It was supposed to be a dream." He sighed. "Look, if I thought it was important, I would have told you. The thing is, it happened again last night. I saw the angel again and what if…" He trailed off.

"You think you're going to die," Ron realized.

"I don't know," Harry blurted out. "I don't know what to think!"

Hermione waved them both down. "Harry." She cupped his face in her hands. "How long has it been since you slept?"

He tried to shake her off. "It doesn't matter-"

"You're exhausted." She was stern with him. It was the only way to get him to listen. "Sleep for a few hours, alright? We'll talk later. Sleep here. The kids won't wake up for another three hours."

"I couldn't possibly."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'll grab the bed sheet and pillows." He shuffled out while scratching his head.

Harry begrudgingly admitted to himself that perhaps he should be grateful for his accommodating friends. "It's probably nothing, right?" He had to keep that thought in his mind or he would just keep thinking about morbid things.

"Probably." Hermione smiled at him. "You're going to be alright. You're working too hard, that's all. We've hardly seen you these past two months."

"Hmm."

"So… Does she have a name?"

Harry tilted his head in puzzlement. "Who?"

"Your angel. Did she give a name?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Oh." He managed a dry smirk. "I guess I can't even dream right. Um, his name is Castiel."

The whip of cloth by the doorway was an all too familiar sound.

Harry dropped his cup of tea while Hermione glanced back in fright.

"Hello," Castiel said with a cordial nod.

"Oh my," she breathed as she stood up.

Harry was frantically patting at his drenched pants and shirt. "You can see him?" he stammered.

"Of course." Hermione looked Castiel up and down. "You are the angel?"

"Hmm. Yes." Castiel was too busy examining the room with rapidly flitting eyes to notice her keen gaze. "And you are Harry's friend."

"I am…"

He finally looked at her. "I've been watching." He narrowed his eyes when he noticed Harry floundering behind her. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, um, y-yes." Harry struggled to his feet. He wasn't going crazy after all. That wasn't much a relief. "Oh boy." He suddenly felt lightheaded. He sat back down while pressing his hands to his eyes. This was really happening. It wasn't just in his head. "Sorry…"

Castiel exhaled quietly, his shoulders slumping a hint, before brushing past Hermione to walk to Harry. He sat down on the coffee table opposite the distraught wizard. "What's wrong?"

"I thought it was a dream…"

"Then you have nothing to be sorry about."

In the meantime, Ron was gawking at the exchange he had walked in on. He held the bed sheets and pillows against his chest and stood behind his wife, both of them scrutinizing their newest guest. "So that's…"

"Yes."

"He doesn't really _look_…"

"No, he doesn't."

"So… _What's_ going on…?"

"I don't know."

Harry rested his trembling hands on his lap, unsure whether he should really be asking this question. He might not want to hear the answer. "Why are you here now?" he asked haltingly.

"To persuade you."

"Persuade me to do what?"

"Stop tempting Death."

His jaw dropped.

"This work you do," Castiel continued, "it is fraught with danger. For all we know, Death is waiting for another opportunity to test you."

"The work I do?" Harry echoed.

"You are hurt."

He looked down at himself in bewilderment. "I am?" He didn't see anything awful.

Castiel let out a frustrated breath before tapping Harry's arm. "Here. Remember?" He was pointing out the knife wound hidden under a light bandage.

"That?" Harry was dismissive. "That's nothing." He had fared much, much worse. "Just a scratch."

Castiel pursed his lips and frowned, causing the young wizard to gulp. "You had just gotten better and now you have hurt yourself again," he admonished. "It worries me. I want you to stop risking your life now."

"… I beg your pardon?"

"I want you to stop."

"But that's… that's not possible."

"Why not?"

Harry glanced at his friends for some help, but they just shook their head nervously instead of backing him up. He was floundering here. How was he supposed to go up against an angel? Was that blasphemy? Would some smiting be involved? "Because it's my job?" he wavered. "Um… I'm good at it, so…" He didn't know what else to say.

"Do you have any idea how foolish you sound?" Castiel all but snapped. "I stopped the Reaper. You owe your life to me."

Startled, Harry paled when the temperature in the room dropped.

Without another word, the angel disappeared, a sharp crack echoing in his wake.

"Dean."

Dean whipped around, his rifle following him. The barrel knocked into Castiel's arm. "Jesus Christ!" he hissed in fright. "What the hell?!" He glanced at Sam who was hiding behind a dusty bookshelf. They were moments away from getting to the djinn that had stepped into the backroom to check up on its dreaming victims. Dean was supposed to distract it with buckshot and then Sam would stab it with his silver knife. That was _before_ Castiel's abrupt arrival.

Sensing the brothers' tension, Castiel didn't speak.

Seconds later, the djinn walked out, eyes slowly shifting from electric blue to brown.

"Now!" Dean spun into view and shot it square in the chest.

Stunned, the djinn hardly had time to react before Sam rushed in, killing it with a quick jerk of his knife.

Now that the formalities were out of the way, Castiel decided it was time for him to speak. "If I asked you to give up this life, would you?" he wanted to know.

Dean clenched his jaw and tried for a moment to garner some patience. But it eluded him. So he turned angrily to face the angel. "We are _hunting_, Cas!" he barked. "Don't interrupt us when we hunt! For God's sake, you could have gotten us killed!"

Castiel was taken aback. "I would never get you killed."

Dean swore under his breath and stalked away to help the people in the backroom. Sam had already collected the djinn's blood in syringes so they could inject it into the hallucinating victims and wake them up. Castiel followed them in. He hadn't gotten his answer yet. He wasn't going to leave without it.

"What do you mean 'give up'?" Sam asked as he undid the ropes on a pale young woman.

"If I asked you to stop hunting, would you?" Castiel clarified for them. "Could I persuade you to stop?"

"Nope," Dean said simply.

"Why?"

"Because this is what we do." He wasn't in the mood for this heart-to-heart chat. "Someone's gotta do it." He injected the djinn's blood into the woman's arm.

"I have saved your life countless times, haven't I? Even then you wouldn't stop if I asked you?"

He scoffed. "Look, man. You saved my life for a reason. You wanted me to fight."

"I see…"

"Besides, from where I'm standing, I'd say we're even. You've helped us, we've helped you-"

"What's this about?" Sam interrupted his brother. "Did something happen?"

"No." With that Castiel vanished, leaving the Winchesters to clean up.

"World-class ass," Dean mumbled under his breath.


	5. Babysitting

Castiel had been watching. For one year he had been watching.

_He had been watching Teddy read to Harry when he wasn't feeling too well…_

"Mother Duck says, 'See? That was the easiest swim ever!' And Baby Duck says, 'It sure was. I love swimming.' They swam and swam and swam until Baby Duck forgot all about losing his pet rock." Teddy paused to look up at his godfather. "Do you like the story so far?"

"I do." Harry managed a weak smile for him. "I like the pictures."

"Hmm." Teddy leaned back while shifting on Harry's lap. "Oh!" Suddenly, at the side of his head, he felt fast drumming. He started and looked back again. "Harry! Are you scared?"

"Hmm?"

He pressed his hand to Harry's chest. "Oh no. Your heart is so fast," he gasped.

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He tried pushing Teddy's hand down. "It's nothing."

But Teddy knew it wasn't nothing. Dismayed, he glanced towards the door. "I think I have to get the nurse," he decided.

Before the boy could scoot out of the bed, Harry rested a firm hand on him. "I'm fine, Teddy," he said as calm as he could despite the shooting pain in his immobile legs. "Keep reading. I'll be fine."

Teddy tsked. "Harry." He stayed put though, for his godfather's sake. "Do you feel like crying?"

Harry pressed a kiss on Teddy's hair. "Maybe a bit." His voice cracked.

"Because you can cry. I don't mind."

"You don't?"

"Nope. Because I cry all the time and you don't mind. So if you cry, I don't mind."

_He had been watching the day Harry walked without help for the first time since waking up…_

Gritting his teeth, Harry shuffled forward, feet dragging on the cold wood floor sluggishly as he willed them to move. His breath escaped in pants from exertion and anticipation. Months of work led up to this moment. His therapy instructor watched with bated breath, ready to catch him at a moment's notice. But he'd be damned if he fell. He pushed his other foot forward. It felt foreign, as though not attached to the rest of him at all. But it was responding. However weak that response was, it was enough to move him forward a few inches.

"How does that feel?" the instructor asked eagerly.

"Fine," he answered. "I'm… It's fine. No pain." He was glad for that. "Heavy, that's all."

"Looks like those water sessions did you good, hmm?"

_He had been watching the day Harry was discharged from the hospital…_

"No place like home," Hermione beamed as she helped her friend onto the couch bed.

Harry sank into it thankfully, stretching his legs out and closing his eyes to take a breather. "This is going to be impossible," he mumbled. "Can't even get up stairs…"

"Come on, mate," Ron interjected jovially. "You'll be back on your feet in no time. Mark my words." He dropped the luggage on the floor and flopped down beside Harry, despite Hermione's irritated tsk. "The kids have been going on and on about having Uncle Harry over. They won't give you a moment's rest."

"I'm not a babysitter."

"You didn't expect to live here rent-free, did you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the bickering men while whisking the luggage into a cluttered closet by the hallway. It was nice to see Harry back in good spirits after those long, draining months at the hospital.

_He had been watching the day Harry went back to work…_

"WELCOME BACK!"

Harry tripped over his feet in shock before catching himself by the door and then gawking in wonder at the marked and festive transformation of the conventionally dreary Auror office. There were floating streamers, balloons, banners, cake, and a familiar group of grinning faces. "You idiots," he groaned. They knew better than anyone that he hated flashy gestures.

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a-"

"Oh shut up." He slammed the door shut behind him before interested onlookers could peek inside. The Aurors didn't shut up despite that, continuing their chorus until Harry was red in the face from embarrassment. It was the least they could do considering he had scared them half to death by nearly getting himself killed on that mission a year ago.

_He had been watching the day Harry got sliced by Pritchard…_

He had watched Harry's painful progress out of the hospital bed. He had watched many therapy sessions where the young wizard struggled to do menial tasks like throw a ball or hold a cup. He had watched those sleepless nights and endless days.

In fact, he had been watching until he could watch no more.

Why was Harry Potter so determined?

Castiel watched the Auror slip on his robes and smooth it down absently. The way he handled his badge was the same as Dean handling his ivory Colt – with ease and authority. In fact, the two men were very alike in the angel's mind. They never seemed to tire, remained hardheaded at the worst times, and cared all too much about family.

And now…

Harry let out a startled yelp at the sudden appearance of the angel in the locker room. He managed not to throw a hex at the last second, jerking his arm to his side instead. He looked around quickly, glad to see that the rest of his team had already shuffled out. He looked back at Castiel. "You can't be in here," he blurted out.

"I… wanted to apologize."

That rendered him speechless for a moment. "Oh."

"I was short with you."

"Um… Yes."

"It was not my intention to lose my temper."

Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. "So you understand my position, don't you?" he hesitated.

Castiel shook his head. "I cannot understand your position."

Dismayed, Harry started to argue. But they were interrupted.

"We're waiting on you, Potter."

He glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Y-yeah. Give me a second," he called back.

When he looked around again, Castiel was gone.

"Oh, goddamnit," he swore under his breath. Why was he surprised?

He had had a hell of a couple of days. It was difficult enough dealing with Molly and Andromeda badgering him to stop working such dangerous cases. Now to have an angel tell him so was really messing with his mind.

Even now, as he searched an abandoned house for illegal contraband and smugglers with his partner, he was thinking about Castiel's words. He owed his life to the angel? No. He didn't ask to be saved. He had given up and let go, allowing the Reaper to reap his soul. The fact that he was alive was not his doing. He didn't owe the angel anything.

It didn't matter that his friends and family were beyond ecstatic to see him recover fully. It didn't matter that he was back at his job a mere year later, hunting down suspects in dilapidated buildings as though the past nightmarish year hadn't happened at all.

_None of that matters_, he lied to himself. His life was his own. Whether he lived or died was on his own head. What he did with himself was his decision. He wouldn't let anyone else influence it. Not anymore.

"POTTER!"

Harry cut across the dusty room in a dead sprint, swiping at hindering cobwebs just as pounding footsteps echoed along the adjoining corridor. He threw the creaking door open.

But he was pulled away before he could run out.

A crackling red curse shot out right in front of him, where he would have stood had he not been jerked out of the way.

For a breath, he felt glowing warmth against his back, spreading fast into his limbs.

Then he was shoved out the door.

He ran straight into the suspect. He cast a quick stunning curse at the man just before they tumbled into a shuttered window and fell to the ground. By then his partner had caught up, in time to cuff the unconscious suspect.

When he looked back at the room he had scrambled out of, he saw nothing.

Castiel slumped against the mouldy wall, invisible to Harry's searching eyes, and hid his face in his hands. "This will not work," he realized tiredly. Did he have to keep an eye on this _utterly ridiculous _and_ impossible _man _every_ hour of _every_ day? "I am _not_ a babysitter."


End file.
